Sober Chips for Non-Addicts
by Es Aitch
Summary: This story continues where I Am Not An Addict leaves off. We meet the remaining members of Sherlock's close-knit group and continue to explore the parts of canon that are "left out." This story will take us through "The Reichenbach Fall." Disclaimer: Anything recognizable to the general public isn't owned by me, but by the parties to which they belong.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: While the physical descriptions of the area of Star Street are fairly accurate, please remember, this story remains a work of fiction and in no way indicates that these events happen in the locations mentioned. **

* * *

**PROLOGUE: **

Sherlock Holmes had been out of rehab for a year and his brother Mycroft had received a promotion within the Government. Mycroft decided they should meet for dinner to celebrate. As they waited for their meal to be served, Mycroft spoke, "I will be doing a substantial amount of travelling. Which means, brother dear, you will have more of the freedom you've been desperately seeking."

Sherlock did grin at that, "Excellent."

"I thought you would approve. Though, that is not the only reason why I asked you here. There is a celebration for you as well. Since you were far too ill in your drug-addled state to do anything other than recover in the first couple of weeks. I figured today, would be a more appropriate day to celebrate your sobriety."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"It was a year ago that you entered into rehab. And while I don't subscribe to trinkets, I do believe it is something worth acknowledging and celebrating."

Sherlock was dumbfounded. In an attempt to cover the silence, he took a sip of his drink. Their meals were delivered moments later and the two brothers ate in silence. When they had finished dessert, Mycroft could tell that Sherlock was anxious to leave. "There is one more thing, brother, if you'll permit me a moment."

Mycroft left the room. A part of him fully expected Sherlock to leave while he was gone. He returned carrying a large wrapped box. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "I thought you didn't believe in trinkets."

Mycroft chuckled softly, "I believe you'll find this is much more than a 'trinket.'"

Sherlock slowly tore into the wrapping. The box was of high quality, but Sherlock quickly opened it. Inside, was a fine coat made of Irish wool with a tweed weaving. It was a gorgeous coat. Sherlock looked to his brother, "I don't understand."

Mycroft smiled, "I have seen you eyeing this coat when it was in the shop window. I thought it would be an appropriate reward. And something of use to you."

Sherlock nodded, "I do like it."

"This," Mycroft continued, "Is your sober chip. As long as you remain drug-free, it is yours. Should the coat become worn or tattered, I will have it replaced, as long as you are drug-free. You have earned the right to wear it on your own."

Sherlock fought the tears that were threatening to well in his eyes, "I…. Thank you."

Mycroft smiled at that, trying to keep his own tears from spilling over, "I am very proud of you, Sherlock. I hope you can accept this small token not only as a sign of the work you've done, but as a reminder that I am aware at how hard you work at remaining clean."

With that, Mycroft stood, pulled the coat out of the box and helped Sherlock to put it on. Sherlock had not worn anything quite like it in his adult life. Sentiment aside, he did feel like he could be a success while wearing this coat.

Nothing more was ever said about the sentimentality or the symbol that the coat carried for the brothers. Mycroft knew that as long as Sherlock was wearing it, that somehow beyond all the jibes, his brother still cared for him. Sherlock knew that no matter what he was going through, his brother would always try to understand him. While the coat changed nothing about how the brothers treated each other on the surface, it somehow made the familial bond they shared that much stronger.

* * *

**Chapter 1:**

_"__He's making us look like idiots."_ – A Study in Pink

Sherlock Holmes had now been drug-free for thirteen months. He wore his "sober coat" everywhere as a reminder of his accomplishments. He was doing fairly well on his own: he had a website to drum up business and he had a flat on Star Street, not far from Paddington Station. While there was a lot of traffic in this part of town, the few flats immediately surrounding Sherlock's were a bit less desirable. They attracted people who needed to be near the major transportation hub that Paddington was, yet who could not afford to pay high let fees.

This description fitted Sherlock well enough, the problem was, those low-cost flats had a high turnover rate. Sherlock was certain that drug dealing was occurring in a couple of them. He did what he could to ignore this fact. He was not an addict and he was a year out of rehab. There was no reason why the presence of drug dealers needed to be a source of temptation with him. So he put it out of his mind. After all, they needed a place to live and as long as he stayed away from the drugs themselves, he would be fine.

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade would call Sherlock in to help him with cases on occasion. Up until now, Sherlock had not had much interaction with Lestrade's team. That all changed the night a body was found in the flat next to Sherlock's flat. DI Lestrade and his team had been called to the site. While Greg knew that Sherlock lived in this street, he was not aware that the address was next door.

A freshly promoted sergeant had been assigned to Lestrade's team: Sally Donovan. She was smart, professional, had a sharp tongue, but was always wonderful with conducting interviews. She was compassionate with the victims and hard as nails with the criminals. Lestrade liked her style and she was a good fit for him as his second-in-command.

Lestrade had sent Donovan to check on the neighbours and interview them. The flat to one side was empty, so she went to the other. She knocked on the door. A few moments later, lanky man in his late twenties or early thirties answered the door. He had piercing blue-green-grey eyes (she could not be sure of the colour) and a head of curly dark hair. The man looked bleary-eyed and Donovan immediately thought, "_Druggie_."

Sherlock Holmes looked the woman over up and down, "Yes, what do you want, Sergeant?"

Sally was thrown off a little by the greeting, but she quickly recovered. Sherlock smirked, "Oh and new too, wonderful. I'm in the middle of something, what do you want?"

Donovan recovered her voice and rather than asking how he knew she was new, went to asking interview questions, "Sergeant Sally Donovan, have you seen any suspicious activity in the past day or so?"

Sherlock smirked, he left the door open and gestured for her to follow him as he made his way to his kitchen. Sally followed and took in his flat as she listened as the man replied, "There is a drug dealer in one flat and a competitor trying to set up shop in the other. Suspicious things happen here all the time."

Sally was not sure what to make of that reply, but started to take notes all the same. "And are you a customer of theirs?"

Sherlock frowned and stared her down for a few long moments, "No."

She did not look like she believed him. She took notice of all the equipment on his table and a skull sitting on a counter, "Or maybe you're setting up shop yourself. Did you arrange to kill off your competition?"

Sherlock again remained silent several long seconds, "Do you always conduct your interviews on the basis of poor observations?"

Before Donovan could reply, another voice called out, "Donovan?"

Sherlock recognized the man's voice and grinned madly, "Ah, Lestrade, she's in here with me."

"Sherlock?" Lestrade asked as he entered the kitchen, "What are you doing here?"

Sherlock's grin broadened at Sally's confused expression, "I live here, Inspector."

Sally walked to Lestrade's side, "You know him?"

Lestrade nodded and looked at Sherlock. He was about to ask a question when the wall behind Sherlock was rattled by bullets. White calking, debris and dust covered everything in the kitchen, including the three people who ducked down. Lestrade was the first to recover, "Everyone all right?"

Donovan recovered second, "What the hell was that?"

"Don't know, you go check it out, I'll stay with Sherlock."

Donovan left at the Inspector's command. Sherlock had covered his head and leaned forward across the table and had yet to stir. Lestrade looked at him and grew concerned, "Sherlock?"

Sherlock did not reply, but Greg could see his hands shaking in his hair, "Sherlock you all right?"

Sherlock slowly sat up, as if in a dream, he in haled deeply and stared at his hands. Suddenly, all colour drained from his face and he took off at a run to the loo. Fully dressed, he got into the shower and began to wash himself. Lestrade was quickly at his side, "Sherlock, what is it?"

Sherlock stared at him, "Can't you smell it? Don't you know?"

Suddenly it clicked for Lestrade. It was not dust. The white powder – cocaine! "Oh, God. Here, let me help."

Sherlock nodded, desperate to get the substance off of him. Lestrade helped Sherlock to strip, "Right, you shower, I'll get some clean clothes and call an ambulance."

"No!" Sherlock shouted much louder than was necessary, "No ambulance. Please. Just get some clean clothes, not from the flat. You'll need to shower too."

Greg stepped out of the bathroom and radioed his team. He asked them to bring up two sets of spare clothes. Donovan was not to touch them and the would need to be in plastic bags, set in an ambulance. They would also need two long blankets brought up for Sherlock and himself to wrap up in as they made their way to the ambulance to change. Hell this was going to be a lot of paperwork.

"Sorry Sherlock, this is protocol. You don't have to go to A&E, but we need you to be looked over."

Sherlock sighed, but wrapped himself in a blanket when it arrived and left Lestrade to shower as well. A few minutes later, Lestrade and Sherlock made their way to the ambulance, where they were able to change in relative privacy and the medics looked them over for injuries. Since they found none and Sherlock refused further treatment, they were sent on their way.

Sherlock stood on a corner and just stared at his flat. Lestrade came to stand next to him, "Met insurance will take care of everything in your flat. We can get it all cleaned and just like new."

Sherlock swallowed thickly, "I can't stay there again, though."

Lestrade nodded in agreement, "Wife and I got a spare bedroom, you can stay with us a couple days until we can get things sorted out with Mycroft."

Sherlock nodded, "It wasn't mine… I haven't… I didn't…"

Lestrade rested a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, "I know. It's okay. The way you panicked tells me what I need to know. Let me sort some things here and we'll head out."

Sherlock looked at Greg surprised, "You can't just… leave."

Lestrade offered a sly smile, "Gotta make sure my witness is cared for, don't I?"

Sherlock offered a hesitant smirk in return, "Thank you."

Lestrade made sure Donovan was okay and then put her in charge of the scene and the rest of the investigation. Sally looked from Lestrade to Sherlock and said, "Where are you going?"

Lestrade sighed, "I'm going to help a witness get settled in a place to sleep."

Sally frowned, "You mean drug-addict. Do you know he's a freak?"

Lestrade raised an eyebrow, "Explain."

"When he opened the door he took one look at me and knew that I was newly promoted, knew that I was with the Met and I hadn't even introduced myself. Then, his kitchen, looked like a drug maker's paradise. And he had a _skull_! A real human skull, just sitting there! Who is he and how do you know him?"

Lestrade nodded, "He's very good with chemistry. He works as a private detective. When we get cases that we're not allowed to handle, I've been sending them to him. What he did with you? That's just how he sees the world, all the time. Now, I'm putting you in charge of this investigation. I'm going to get Sherlock settled somewhere he can sleep. Tomorrow you can interview him, though I doubt he'll have anything to add. Finally, he's in recovery, he's been clean for a year. I'll be staying with him tonight, because even though he didn't intend to be exposed to anything, this might set him off. He's worked too hard to get this far. I'm not going to see him fail because of us, understood?"

Donovan made to argue, "He's still a freak."

Lestrade stared at her for a long time, "You will treat him with professional courtesy when you interview him. Now, because I know him I have to remove myself from this case. You're in charge Sergeant Donovan."

She was going to argue more, but it was rare that someone newly promoted like her would get an opportunity like this, "Ah, yes, sir."

Lestrade watched her as she went to take over command. Other than her opinions on Sherlock, she was already doing a good job, so Lestrade returned to Sherlock and walked them to his car.

Lestrade drove back to his place and he and his wife got Sherlock settled into the spare bedroom. Sherlock did not seem to need much and soon all three were asleep. A few hours later, there was a cry of sheer terror, Lestrade sat upright and listened again. When he realised it was Sherlock, he went to check on the man. Greg knocked on the door as he slowly opened it, "Sherlock?"

Sherlock was sitting up, with his legs drawn up to his chest and arms curled around them. Greg entered cautiously, "You okay?"

Sherlock said nothing, but it was clear that he was scared. Lestrade sat down next to him and slowly draped and arm across Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock did not fight as Greg pulled him in tighter. At last, Sherlock spoke in a soft voice, "All the hard work… pointless now."

Greg turned his head to face Sherlock, but Sherlock had rested his head against Greg's shoulder with his eyes closed. Greg took a slow breath, "What makes you say that?'

Sherlock was quite for a long moment, "You were there, Inspector. You know what happened." Sherlock took a breath and slowly raised a hand, "I haven't been able to stop shaking since."

Greg takes Sherlock's hand in his own and holds him that much tighter, "Sherlock, you didn't mean to. It doesn't mean you'll start up again and Mycroft and I can make sure you don't." He tried to adjust their bodies so they were both in a more comfortable position, "Look, why don't you go to sleep and I'll stay with you, okay?"

Sherlock followed Lestrade's lead and nestled back down. Soon he was asleep again. To Greg's knowledge the man did not wake again. Sherlock slept until mid-morning. The doorbell had rung and when Greg answered it, there was a man standing there with a garment bag. The tag said it was for Sherlock. Greg figured he would not have to tell Mycroft what happened, that somehow Mycroft already knew. Sherlock had made his way out to the living room and Greg handed the bag to Sherlock. The card read, "_As promised. This incident changes nothing._"

Sherlock gave a sharp intake of breath and he stalked off to the room he was staying in. When he opened the bag, a coat to replace his previous one was in the bag. Sherlock hiccupped as he picked up the coat and hugged it to himself. He then showered and dressed. When he came out of the room again, Lestrade noted that he was more like himself again. Lestrade smiled, then they went to New Scotland Yard to fill out the reports.


	2. Chapter 2

_So you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me? _– "A Study in Pink"

It only took Mycroft a few days to find a place for Sherlock. Sherlock hated the fact that his brother was insisting to help him out in this way, but he really didn't have another choice. Mycroft was fearful that the cocaine had contaminated Sherlock's belongings. He ensured that everything went through a thorough cleaning before being sent to the new flat. The coat had been taken care of first. Mycroft knew the importance of it.

The new flat was on Montague Street, so closer to the centre of the city. But transportation from here was going to be a headache. Still, Sherlock decided that would probably help to make things a little safer for him. While walking to any of the near-by tube stations or bus stops would not be impossible, nothing would be as convenient as when he was on Star Street. Still, Sherlock was not in a place financially or professionally to argue with his brother. He would just have to make the best of it.

He was in a basement flat, which would serve his purposes for his experiments without disrupting too many people. He figured it would also help with the "noise" of his violin playing. He did not like the idea of a basement flat, but figured he could get used to it. He feared there would be noise from the people above him, but it was relatively quiet. He hoped he would last longer in this flat. He was moving too much recently and he just wanted to stay put for a bit.

Lestrade came to visit him on occasion, usually when he was in the neighbourhood. Sometimes it was because he wanted Sherlock's help. This was one of those times. A body had washed up on the banks of the Thames, the forensics team was prepared to rule it a suicide, but something was not sitting right with Greg. He could not put his finger on what, but he invited Sherlock to come take a look. Sherlock was obviously bored, but put up a front of being busy. Finally, he relented and Lestrade drove them to the scene and explained everything he knew on the way.

When they got to the scene, Sherlock immediately ordered everyone to stop what they were doing and freeze. One person started to argue and Lestrade called out, "Doctor Anderson, just do what he says for one minute."

Anderson frowned, "He's not licenced. Why should I do what he says? He'll only end up contaminating the scene. He's not even dressed properly!"

Sherlock stared at him for a long moment, "Too late for that. The way you all have traipsed all over the place. I'm trying to preserve some sense of what evidence is left."

Anderson stalked over to Sherlock, "Look here, Freak, Sergeant Donovan told me all about you…."

"Anderson, that's enough!" The DI's voice cut off the rest of Anderson's comments, "It's fine Sherlock. Take a look."

Sherlock slowly made his way across the scene towards the body while the Yarders looked on and Lestrade followed. He put on a pair of gloves as he made his way. Then he paused and looked around. He patted his pockets and swore softly, "Lestrade, do you have a magnifying glass?"

"No, why? Wouldn't everything have been washed away by the river?"

"You'd think so, but no. And it would be helpful to have one."

Lestrade smirked, "Well, maybe next time you'll remember that and bring your own."

His tone was light, but Sherlock looked slightly hurt by the remark before he replied acidly, "If I hadn't been dragged from what I was doing, maybe I would have been better prepared."

Lestrade sighed heavily trying to maintain his patience, "Fine, just say what you think you see."

Sherlock gestured over the body, "There's dirt covering the body."

Lestrade shrugged, "It was in the Thames, not exactly the cleanest water."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Yes and it should have been washed away, but the dirt is _under_ the clothing."

"So? The flow of the Thames could account for that."

Sherlock huffed, "Which is why I want a magnifying glass, so I can see if there is a substantial difference. Now, we need to wait for the body to be transported and the pathologist to supply a report. At least ensure that the idiot does pull soil samples and have them sent to me."

Lestrade stood there in silence until Sherlock glanced up, "Sorry, can't do that. This is a case, Sherlock, I'm bringing you in, but I can't let you run experiments in your flat."

Sherlock stood and stared at Lestrade, getting a bit angry, "Then why bother dragging me out here?"

Greg held up his hands trying to calm Sherlock down, "I might be able to set something up with the morgue. They've got a lab there that you might be able to use. I'll contact you once the arrangements have been made." Greg then called out, "Anderson! I need you to run Sherlock home."

Sherlock looked at Greg horrified. Greg just grinned in return, "It'll be good for both of you. Besides, it will keep him out of my hair while I try to negotiate lab space for you."

Sherlock looked positively disgusted, "Fine. But only because of the lab."

Lestrade chuckled in reply and sent the two men off. Anderson was clearly no happier than Sherlock. He considered it a demotion to be chauffeuring someone about London. He gestured to the car, but made Sherlock ride in back like a criminal, "I think it would be best if we just didn't talk. I'll drop you home and you can do…. Whatever it is that you do."

Sherlock said nothing, but nodded his agreement. Once they reached the flat, Anderson let Sherlock out. Sherlock made his way to the door, but Anderson was right behind him, "One more thing. I want to take a look at your flat."

Sherlock's forehead crinkled, "Why?"

"Because Sargent Donovan told me about your first meeting and after the bullets tore through the wall, there was no way to tell if you had any drugs yourself."

Sherlock wanted to punch the prissy smirk off of Anderson's face, but allowed him in to do a quick sweep. Anderson, was disappointed that there was nothing to find, "Well, I guess you're lucky this time. But some day, you'll slip up and when you do, we'll get you. Once an addict, always an addict."

With that Anderson turned and left. Sherlock sighed heavily, but he was relieved to be alone. He did not understand why everyone at the Yard seemed to hate him already, it was not his fault they were idiots. Lestrade had asked for his help, which should have been enough to earn their respect. He flung himself despondently into his couch and waited for Lestrade's call.


	3. Chapter 3

"_Teaching now. Bright young things like we used to be."_ – A Study in Pink

It took Lestrade several days to secure a lab for Sherlock. Unfortunately, Sherlock's reputation from his time at King's Cross had made its way around most of the hospitals that Greg contacted. At last, he was put in touch with a Doctor Michael Stamford at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Bart's was a unique place, not only was it a teaching hospital, but it also served to train members of the Royal Army Medical Corps. In some respects, this made them more open to non-traditional situations.

Mostly, Sherlock needed a sponsor; someone who would look after him while he was on the premises doing his experiments. Greg had worked with Mike on a couple of cases when Mike had been the doctor for different victims. Mike did more teaching these days, which made him an ideal candidate. Greg and Mike met to discuss matters. Lestrade debated how much to tell him, but many of his concerns were alleviated by information Stamford offered.

"I've seen some of his work – different reports and research projects he had been a part of while at King's. He's a very talented young man. And I know you're coming to me because of his… history."

Greg met Mike's eyes, "You know?"

Mike shrugged, "Enough. I have several questions, though. Is he clean now? Will he remain clean? And will he respect me as his sponsor?"

Greg looked shocked at Mike. _Was Mike agreeable to this_? Greg thought about how to answer the last question while he gave the first two replies, "He's clean now. You know 'remain clean' is a delicate matter. He wants to be clean. I think having something to do that will keep his mind busy will help him stay clean. As to respect – I'm not sure he respects anyone, that would be between the two of you."

Mike nodded and smiled knowingly, "I'm not saying yes – yet. I want to interview him first."

Greg smiled, "But you'll give him a chance?"

Mike nodded, "As I said, he's a bright man. I think he could do a lot of good here. Young doctors sometimes need someone to put them in their place and given the reputation he has, I think he would be good for that."

Greg chuckled softly, "Don't ever tell him that or you'll never be able to control him."

Mike nodded and took out a card. On the back, he wrote down some additional information including a date and time. He handed the card to Greg, "Have him meet me and we'll take it from there."

Greg stood, shook Mike's hand and nodded, "Thank you. I think this will help all of us."

Greg put Mike's card in an envelope and had one of the constables from the Yard deliver it to Sherlock's place when they were on patrol. Sherlock had gotten agitated at having to wait so long, but he knew there really was not anything he could do about it in his given circumstances. He tried to keep himself busy – taking walks, mostly. He taught himself new paths to take – including rooftops. He was not home when the officers dropped by, but he found the business card stuck to the doorjamb. He smiled when he read the back. He would only have to wait a few more hours.

Sherlock was waiting outside the lab at the appointed time. A round but happy man approached he was in his lab coat, so had probably not been seeing patients. Could have been teaching, though. He stretched out a hand in greeting, no ring. Not married and not living with anyone – no ring and the tie is just slightly off, no one to fix it for him. "Mike Stamford. Please this way."

Mike led them to an office that was adjoining to the lab, "Please, sit down."

Sherlock did and for some reason, suddenly felt like he had been called to the headmaster's office. The difference was – Mike was smiling, "I spoke to Greg this morning about your desire to work in our labs. I have read your other work, it is most interesting."

Sherlock kept his facial features neutral, "Thank you."

"I am, however concerned about the incidences during your time at King's Cross and, of course your addiction."

Sherlock swallowed hard, but nodded, "I am clean. I intend to remain that way. Boredom is what started my addiction, so working here would help with that. As to my time at King's… I was young."

Mike nodded, "Next is the matter of payment. After all you will be using our lab and supplies. Those are not cheap nor are they an unlimited resource."

Sherlock made to protest, but Mike held up a hand, "I'm not going to ask for a financial contribution from you. What I want is your time and talent in exchange for the use of the lab."

Sherlock's brow furrowed, "I don't understand."

Mike smiled warmly, "When you are here working on cases for the Yard, the hospital does get reimbursed for personnel and equipment used. Having you around will save both sides in the personnel area and the Yard will take care of the equipment for their cases. However, I'm sure you would be interested in running your own experiments."

Sherlock tilted his head and considered the man. He could lie to him, but did not feel that it would be necessary. He nodded and allowed Mike to continue, "So, I will serve as your sponsor. You will have full use of the adjoining lab and access to the morgue for cases. In return, you will aid with research and help me in my training of doctors."

Sherlock's jaw dropped, "But I'm not a doctor, what could I possibly -."

Mike held up a hand, "I know many consider you to be the arrogant sort. But I've read your work. And while I don't approve of your attitude all the time, I can say your arrogance is well earned."

There was a twitch to Sherlock's lips as he tried to decide if that was intended as a compliment or not. Mike smiled as he caught the subtle expression, "Now, a lot of young doctors and those in training have a problem with arrogance, I think it would be good for them to encounter someone who's a 'civilian' but can teach them a thing or two about science."

Sherlock still did not quite understand what Mike was saying, "So, you want me to…"

Mike grinned, "Be yourself? Yes."

Sherlock swallowed, "I… Think I can manage that."

"Good. Come this way, I'll show you around the lab and the morgue."

Mike spent about an hour with Sherlock, showing him around, getting him set up with a key to the lab and introducing him to some of the people who worked in the area. Once Mike felt Sherlock was settled in, he left him to get to work. Mike knew Sherlock was working on a case for the Yard, and did not want to delay the work any more.

Lestrade had the morgue send pathology reports, as well as different soil samples from the body to Sherlock's lab. Sherlock was in the lab until well after midnight compiling the information and running his own tests on the various samples. He grinned when he had enough information to contact Lestrade. He sent a simple text: "Get me information on missing women from Reading."

At least murder was more interesting than suicide. It only took another day and Sherlock was able to supply enough information to show that it was an abusive girlfriend. While the case itself was rather dull for Sherlock, it was interesting to learn that the person was a serial abuser who had turned serial murderer. While dumping the body into the Thames should have washed away most of the dirt, the murder had taken place when the victim was naked. For sentimental reasons (probably) the killer had redressed the victim before dumping her into the river. The clothing preserved some of the soil from the Reading area to be washed away. Simple, really. Dull.


	4. Chapter 4

_All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots. _– "The Great Game"

Things continued in this fashion for the next few months. Lestrade started to call in Sherlock more often for consultations and Sherlock worked out of Bart's Lab. Mike and Sherlock became as close to friends as Sherlock allowed anyone. Yes, everything was going quite well, until it was time for Mike to break for the Christmas Holidays. Getting Sherlock to understand why the lab would be closed down was difficult. Sherlock saw it as the opportunity to run some experiments considered too difficult to run at home at a time when idiots would not interfere.

It was still an argument that Sherlock could not win. It was going to be a month of nothing to do, unless Lestrade or – he shuddered at the thought – Mycroft could distract him. He had his own experiments at home, but they did not offer him what Bart's did. Though he was loath to admit it, there was something of a comfort in having contact with Mike.

Now, only three days into the holidays and Sherlock was sitting on his couch, staring at the skull. He was clearly too bored, because he was actually trying to will the skull – Brent – to speak to him. The skull just stared at him, almost mocking him. He got up, put on his coat and went for a walk.

It was two-thirty in the morning. Sherlock knew where he was, but had no idea why he was there. There was a sensation in his arms. One he had not experienced in months. It was all he could do to keep his hands from scratching at his arms to get the feeling to stop. He looked around and realised his location and the danger of the situation. No CCTV cameras were around, so no way to signal Mycroft's team. It was too late or early – depending on your perception – to call anyone. Every vein and artery in his body was screaming at him to give in to the craving.

Sherlock clumsily reached into his pockets to take out his mobile. His hands were shaking so badly that he nearly dropped the phone. His breathing had increased; he knew he was in trouble. He held down a speed-dial number, not caring whom it rang. A somewhat groggy voice answered, "Hello?"

Sherlock stood there in silence for a few long moments. It was Mycroft who answered and Sherlock was not sure if he could talk – if he _should_ talk. "I can hear you breathing. Sherlock, is that you?"

Sherlock could not stand the way concern pitched Mycroft's voice, so he pressed the "End call" button.

The sound of his brother's voice only made Sherlock's situation worse. He did not know what to do. He felt so weak, who could he possibly call? Hi trembling hands were scrolling to the "recent calls" list before he knew what he was doing. He came to a name and pressed "redial."

It rang so many times that Sherlock thought it would go to the answering service. He would be okay with that. All he needed was to hear a voice. It would be enough, right? It had to be enough. It was only nine-thirty there… Hopefully it was not too late. Finally, a voice answered, "Hello?"

The woman's voice was strangely calming. Not as good as _his_ would have been, but the connection is enough. Her voice shook slightly, "Hello? Is anyone there?"

Sherlock knew she was getting nervous. But he could not make his voice work. He finally said, "Apologies, Mrs Morris, wrong number."

"Sherlock? Is that you?"

That stopped Sherlock from ringing off. He swallowed thickly, "How did you know it was me?"

Brent's widow chuckled softly, "How many patients of my husband's do you think would have a British accent? Is something wrong?"

Sherlock sighed, "I'm sorry I bothered you."

Her tone took on an edge of concern, "You're not bothering me. Though I think the distance might be difficult for us, unless you've found yourself in Florida again?"

Sherlock smiled softly as he replied, "No. Nothing like that, I just needed…"

Sherlock cut himself off; he was not sure what he needed. Mrs Morris waited to see if he would say more, when he did not, she spoke gently, "Sherlock I… I think you should call someone who is closer to you. They would be able to help more than I could."

Sherlock heard her voice catch. So many months later and she was still upset, "I shouldn't have called. But thank you for answering."

"It's all right. Just... promise me you'll call someone else after we hang up?"

Sherlock swallowed thickly, "I promise. And I… I haven't broken my promise to him or to you."

Her voice caught again, "What promise?"

"Oh, never told either of you out loud. But, I haven't broken it and I won't break this one either."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it, Sherlock. Thank you, good night."

Sherlock nodded, even though she could not see it, "Good night."

With that he rang off. He went to his contacts list again and dialled Mycroft. Mycroft had clearly not gone to bed and was probably scanning the CCTV trying to find him, "Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighed, "Yes. Can… Can you send a car?"

Mycroft's tone turned concerned, "Of course. Where are you, I can't find you."

Sherlock released a mirthless chuckle, "Have them pick me up at Albion Road and Green Lanes."

Mycroft tried to keep the surprise out of his tone, "Very well."

With that, the brothers rang off. About an hour later, Sherlock arrived at Mycroft's house. Mycroft led him to the kitchen and made some hot coca, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Sherlock shook his head at first. Mycroft provided the coca and they drank it in silence for a few minutes. Sherlock cleared his throat, "I… was tempted tonight. No idea what set me off."

Mycroft nodded, but remained silent for some minutes, "You don't have access to the lab because of the holidays."

Sherlock shrugged, "I thought I was…"

He stopped, but Mycroft finished the thought for him, "Stronger than this?" He sighed as Sherlock nodded. Then he continued, "Sherlock, you could have just said something the first time. I… Requesting assistance when-"

"I thought hearing your voice would be enough!" Sherlock interrupted. The tone was more pleading than angry.

"I see."

Sherlock huffed, "No, you _really_ don't."

Mycroft nodded, "Would you like to stay here tonight?"

Sherlock nodded. The brothers finished their drinks in silence and then went to bed. By the time Mycroft woke the next morning to prepare breakfast for them, Sherlock had already returned to his own flat.


	5. Apologies

My Dear reviewers, followers and those who have favoured me or any of my works... Recently, FFN ran an update to their site that has made it impossible to select text in stories. Because I am dyslexic, I use text-to-speech programs to help me read stories and these programs depend on the ability to "select text".

This change has made using FFN difficult for me, so I will no longer be updating stories here. You will be able to find me over at Archive Of Our Own as Es_Aitch.

Please accept my sincere apologies for abandoning FFN. Should the-powers-that-be decide to restore the ability to select text (and therefore my text-to-speech programs will work on this site again), I will be happy to return to posting here again.

Until we meet again!

~EsAitch


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